A Holiday Abroad (or, How He Learned to Stop Worrying & Love Life)
by Imogen74
Summary: In which Sherlock arranges a holiday in Italy with Molly, John, Mary, & Mycroft. A fanciful bit of Sherlolly on its way. M, because its what I do.
1. Chapter 1

Perhaps it was because the air didn't smell as sweet as when he was in Italy. London was his home, to be sure, but he began to feel like something was wanting in his life since his return. It had been several months now, & John had already moved out to enjoy domestic felicity with Mary Morstan. They still had their work, but Sherlock Holmes was undergoing something quite foreign. He was lonesome. The skull, as obliging as he was (surely a "he" as Sherlock imagined it), simply didn't talk back. This is what he desired. Some company. The soft, warm air of the Mediterranean would be pleasant, too.  
He supposed he should simply ignore these tendencies. It really wouldn't do to carry on in such a way. He thought that, perhaps, he should take a holiday. A holiday. Sherlock Holmes on holiday. It was absurd in the extreme.

Molly was reading during her lunch. She always read at lunch. It was her way of quelling her loneliness. Most of her coworkers thought she was odd. Nice, but odd. They thought she read cheesy romance novels, she was the type. But they were wrong. Molly read the classics. She read non-fiction. She read reference books. She read & read anything she could get her hands on.  
She didn't imagine many people shared her love for the written word. She didn't fancy many people thought much about her in general. She was right. No one paid Molly Hooper much mind. In truth, she didn't care. She was a tad bit awkward. She was slightly tongue tied. She knew she had little to say that would amuse people, but this was not her concern. She was perfectly content in her little life, & she wouldn't have it any other way.  
There was one person whom she felt especially uneasy around. Sherlock Holmes. Not for any reason in particular, though she thought she fancied him at one point. He was good looking. He was very intelligent. She thought he was interesting, & perhaps she saw something of herself in him. She was wrong.  
She still liked him. He was hard not to. Clever, sarcastic, forthright. He was refreshing when compared to the lot she was used to. So when he asked her assistance in faking his suicide, she thought of course she would. How dull the world would be without him. Though she doubted any romance would ever bloom, it was nice to think about on occasion. She so seldom fancied anyone that to sit & daydream about it was a pleasant distraction. Still, she told herself that she no longer liked him. And she was right. Mostly.

John Watson was happy. He loved Mary & loved his modest flat. He had everything laid out before him. In a few months, he'd take his savings & go purchase that engagement ring he so longed to place on her finger. They would honeymoon in France. Maybe Italy. They would spend a fortnight there, making love, making plans, making merry. It would be lovely.  
He did, in truth, miss his git of a friend Sherlock Holmes. He wished there was a way he could make him understand. But Sherlock was not one to understand much in terms of the heart, & this was no exception. In fact, it was a touch worse since he was one of his only friends. Well, likely his only friend. Er...friend might be a bit too strong a word. He wished that Sherlock would just stop being such a wanker & find someone himself. It would ease his mind considerably.

Mycroft Holmes was a busy, busy man. He seldom did anything that didn't involve work. His life was filled with phone calls. Meetings. Negotiations. Interrogations. Machinations. His flat was dark, always was. It suited him. His younger brother Sherlock would chide him, claiming it was as good as a tomb, & since he barely lived, it was most appropriate. Mycroft minded but little. No one understood his overwhelming responsibility. No one would ever appreciate what he did, what he sacrificed, what went through his mind. Perhaps when he was dead & gone, someone would write a book on his life. Then they'd see. Then they'd appreciate who he was, & his exceptional mind.

And so it was, four islands. Well, three islands...& a bridge. John Watson was hardly an island. He was, perhaps, the most normal of the lot.  
A holiday was needed to subjugate the growing malcontent of the group. A holiday, which Sherlock Holmes himself would arrange. A holiday, wherein a cleansing would occur. Italy, he thought. Italy, with its olive trees & sea & robust food & wine. Italy, old, picturesque, perfect. Whom should he ask to accompany him? John, yes. No doubt Mary would insist she tag along. Tiresome.  
And then...a thought sprang to mind. A person, actually. A person whom, if he thought about it, was too in need of quiet recreation. She spent too much time in the lab, underground. Time to venture out, Molly Hooper, he said to himself. Tan that ivory skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Finishing up a case was as good as a high as he could ever feel. Well, excepting, perhaps, cocaine. But he never bothered reflecting on that.  
"Oh, John. That was brilliant. Nearly undetectable! That drug combination is so rare..."  
"Yep. Wonderful. You are something." John was fatigued from his friend's not-so-veiled smugness. "Care for a cuppa? I'm boiling the kettle."  
"Hm...thanks." He was updating the website. He then recalled his mind frame just prior to the recently solved case. "John...I was wondering...have you ever been to Italy?"  
"Yeah. Rome, but that's all. Why?" He carried in two cups.  
"I was thinking...I had been to the Amalfi Coast when I was abroad. It was lovely..." His voice trailed off.  
"Yeah. I've heard that. What of it?"  
"Well...I was thinking of going back," he said absently.  
"Going back?"  
"Yes."  
John was staring at Sherlock. "But...you mean to move there?"  
"Heavens no. On holiday. A fortnight or so."  
"Oh! Well then. Yes, you should," he thought it was the most sensible thing he'd heard his friend utter in quite some time.  
"Would you care to join me?"  
"Join you?" He doubted he had heard correctly.  
"Yes. Do you behave this way around Mary? I admire her patience. It's off-putting how you repeat everything I say."  
"Well...it's just...I mean...I hadn't thought," he stopped. "Er...Sherlock...I'm with Mary."  
"Of course you are."  
"Yeah, so...I can't just off to Italy. With you. I mean..."  
Sherlock stood. "Bring her."  
"Oh...really? You want to holiday with Mary & I?"  
"Well, since its obviously the only way you'll come along, yes."  
John rolled his eyes. He heard someone entering the building. The pace told Sherlock it was his brother. Lovely.  
"Good afternoon, John. Sherlock. How are things?" Mycroft sauntered into the flat.  
"Why are you here Mycroft?"  
"That's hardly a way to greet your brother. I'm shocked."  
"No you're not. You only visit when you have particular design. Why are you here?" And he went back to the computer screen.  
"Well, since you mentioned it, I did pop by to congratulate you on another fine job. Case cracked. Excellent."  
Sherlock eyed his brother. "You had some interest in the death of Mr. Kerry. Why didn't you stop me before?"  
"I don't know what you mean. However, I can report that his untimely death does allow the Korean government access to information that we would rather not have allowed. It appears I have underestimated you once again, Sherlock."  
"Hardly surprising," and he turned to his computer to look up hotels in Capri.  
Mycroft happened to glance at the screen. "Italy, Sherlock? Is this for another case?"  
He half turned toward him. "No. Why?"  
"Are you thinking of visiting, then?"  
He didn't answer.  
Mycroft began, "You know, I've never been on a leisurely holiday. Not since we were children. It's been ages since I've had the opportunity to enjoy myself," he reflected aloud.  
"You should, you know. It's not good to never let go of work. You deserve the chance to holiday just like everyone else, Mycroft." John was sincere.  
"Thank you, John. Yes. I think I shall do just that. Italy would be a wonderful distraction. And I'll have my mobile in case of emergency."  
Sherlock stopped. "You're going to Italy?"  
"Yes, since you asked. It'll be lovely to holiday with you, brother. Like childhood, except this time I'll have a lifetime's worth of fodder to make you uneasy."  
"I didn't invite you, Mycroft."  
"No...perhaps not in so many words, but I dare say it was implied," he was smiling.  
"You have a very different sense of implication than I do. I never once said..." Sherlock was exceedingly annoyed.  
John interjected, "Of course, we'd love to have you. Mary & I are gong. It would be lovely to have you join us."  
"Thank you once more, John. Well, I'll be in touch then. Good afternoon, gentlemen." And he left, umbrella in hand.  
"What the hell was that for? Mycroft? Holiday with Mycroft? How is that going to be relaxing?" Sherlock was shouting at his friend, and standing in frustration.  
"You two need to patch things up. It's dreadful how you the two of you carry on. A holiday is just what you & he need."  
"Well, perhaps I'll go & invite Anderson as well, since we're making preposterous suggestions. Any logic will be abandoned, & it'll be miraculous if we even make it to Italy, for surely he will manage to muck everything up beyond repair. Or else I shall need to flee for having murdered him most foul. Really, John. Do you wish for me to be on the run? And you call yourself my friend."  
He concluded his dramatic speech. John laughed. "It'll be fine, Sherlock. So...the four of us. Off to Italy. Strange, but I rather like the sound of that."  
"Five."  
"Five? I only count four. Are you inviting Mrs. Hudson?"  
"No. She'd never go. No. I'm inviting Molly."  
"Molly? But...why?"  
"She's pale," and that was all his was willing to offer in terms of an excuse.  
"That's rather rude, mate. I wouldn't tell her that's your reason."  
"I wasn't going to. But she needs a holiday, & since she has little in terms of friends..."  
"As do you," John reminded him.  
"As do I, yes. I think it's a logical gesture. Of course, you've spoiled things by inviting Mycroft. You'll need to pay later for that."  
"Oh. I am scared," quipped John. "Well, I am a bit surprised. But, pleased. Good for you, Sherlock. Five then. Right." And he left.  
Sherlock watched him go, & sat back down in front of the laptop. Capri, Italy. Like paradise on earth. He never thought he'd see the day that he was looking forward to leaving England, even if it were for just a short while.


	3. Chapter 3

That left Molly. He went to the morgue with his usual confidence. Molly was writing up some paper work when he entered.  
"Good evening, Molly."  
"Hi," she smiled her sweet smile.  
"I was just coming in to tell you that I'll be leaving on a holiday in a month's time."  
Molly wasn't certain how to respond to this. "Oh, well. That's nice, Sherlock. Where are you going?"  
"Capri, Italy." He looked at her questioningly.  
"Sounds lovely," she smiled again. She wished if he didn't require use of the lab, he'd go so that she might finish her work.  
"Indeed, yes. It will be. You should come along."  
Molly looked at him. She doubted. She laughed. When he continued to peer at her, she gulped. "Um, you're serious?"  
"Of course. I'm nearly always serious."  
"But...why?"  
Sherlock smiled at her. He considered her question. "Well, I assumed that you'd enjoy Italy. Was I in error?"  
"Well, no. I mean, you'd have to be pretty daft to not want to go to Italy. But why do you want me to go to Italy with you?" It was a genuine concern. Sherlock had a terrible reputation for using his "friends" as test subjects.  
"Because I enjoy your company. And you need a holiday. Tell Mike you'll need to take some of your time. We are going a fortnight. John & Mary are accompanying me, as is, unfortunately, Mycroft."  
"Mycroft?"  
"My brother."  
"Right, I knew that. That's quite a lot of people. Are you renting a house?"  
Sherlock considered that. It might do to rent a large place. "Perhaps, yes. I'll text you the details next week." And with that, he left.  
Molly stood there. She pinched herself. No, not dreaming. Did she just agree to go on an Italian holiday with Sherlock bloody Holmes? What on earth was she doing?  
Well, it might be pleasant. She'd always wanted to see Italy. She could bring some books.  
She wondered briefly what he had intended the sleeping arrangements to be. He seemed like he hadn't considered a larger place. Did that mean...no. Surely not. She dismissed it as impossible.  
She prepared her request for time off. Her hands shook with excitement.

Sherlock entered 221B feeling pleased, Mycroft's attendance notwithstanding. Perhaps John was right. Perhaps it wouldn't be so dreadful.  
Molly would be delightful. He could then spend time in a leisurely manner with her & John. He wondered briefly if he would, in fact, be able to relax. He had honestly never really attempted it. He imagined it would be pleasant, so many people chose to spend their time in such a fashion. It did worry him, however, & he felt a pang that perhaps he was making a poor choice.  
No matter, it was done. He had booked flights, the four bedroom house. It was done. The only thing he needed to concern himself with now was packing.

John & Mary were readying themselves. She was excited, it was to be their first holiday together. Well, with Sherlock. And Mycroft. And Molly. She felt it a bit strange that Sherlock would want to invite them all, but so be it. She had surmised him to be a fairly strange character, & decided early on that she wouldn't question him much. He was very dear to John.  
"Ready, then?" John looked at her smilingly.  
"Ready if you are," Mary replied.  
"Right, we're off then. Quite an adventure, I imagine."  
"Quite." And she kissed him.

Mycroft had needed to procure a suitcase. He had one, but it was only an overnight bag, & since he would be traveling for so long, he naturally needed larger accommodations. His mind raced. Why he had invited himself, he couldn't fathom. At the outset, he believed he was doing it to annoy Sherlock. While that was certainly part of it, it had become ancillary to more pressing reasons. He searched himself for the why. He occupied himself thus while readying to leave. He promised himself that although he wouldn't abandon his treatment of his brother, he would curb it somewhat while on holiday.

Molly's flat bore the signs of a break in gone horribly wrong. Clothes were strewn everywhere, in all directions. She had needed to go shopping, which was never something she was terribly used to. Hideous chore. It would be about 28* while there, & Molly's wardrobe was lacking many a summer frock. She did what she could, & briefly thought that if she & Mary would hit it off, they could go on a shopping excursion a few days in. She finished loading up her suitcase, & looked about. Mess. Well, it would need to wait. And out the door she flew.

Sherlock was waiting at Hethrow at the pre-established meeting place for his company. He looked at his watch. He looked at the man that was desperately trying to appear much more financially secure then he actually was. He looked at the lady cheating on her diet. He looked, & he observed, & he mentally smacked himself. It was like an intellectual tick. He couldn't stop doing it. Well, he would need to make a more concerted effort. Ah...there was John & Mary. He smiled, & when they approached, he made idle conversation (rather badly) with Mary. He saw Mycroft & did a marvelous job not sneering. When Molly finally made her appearance, he stepped forward to greet her.  
"Ready?" He asked.  
"I suppose so, yes," she returned. And he five went to board the plane.


	4. Chapter 4

The five entered the villa bickering.  
"Sherlock, if you had heeded my advice, we wouldn't have been standing on that dock for 3/4 of an hour."  
"Yes, & if you had listened to me & realized that that was not an opportune moment to begin discussing the state of nuclear activity in the Far East, we wouldn't have been tardy getting our cab. Truly, this is your fault."  
John was already tired of the banter, "Ladies, can we stop long enough to enter the villa? I'm tired & hot." Mary smiled assent.  
They entered, & Molly was struck by the loveliness of it. Open, airy. Since it was stationed near the top of the island, the view it afforded was quite lovely. There was tasteful decor, antique looking furnishings. The stucco walls were cream colored, & there was a stone fireplace at the far end of the sitting room. Windows donned every exterior wall, so there was little room for artwork. Oh, yes. Molly was dumbstruck.  
The tile floors felt cool on her feet. She had immediately shed her sandals upon entering the place.  
"Oh wow," she said. "Sherlock, it's beautiful."  
"It is, yes. Well, shall we claim bedrooms?" He took his bags to the back of the villa where Mycroft had already settled into the largest room.  
"I thought it the most tucked away, & since I plan on spending most of my time alone, I thought it the most logical choice," he was explaining to his brother.  
"It's also the largest, Mycroft. But it matters not. Take it." And he moved into another room, careful not to take the larger bed, mindful of John & Mary. He began to unpack. He heard Molly in the hall. It appeared that her choice was the room next to his. Well, obvious choice. She too realized the sense in having the couple claim the largest bed.  
He smiled.

Molly needed to get out & enjoy the garden. She dressed in one of her three frocks & ventured out. Absolutely wonderful. The foliage was brilliant...so many colors, & the sea rocked slowly back & forth against the island, lulling the inhabitants into a soft stupor. She stepped through a rocky path when she took notice of Mary. She decided to go & have a chat, since the journey was spent in such a hurried fashion.  
"Hi, Mary?"  
"Oh, hello Molly. Lovely, isn't it?"  
"Very, yes," Molly replied. "So...I think I heard you say that this was your first holiday with John. Must be very exciting for you."  
"It is. And a bit odd, what with such a large group. But then, I suppose it doesn't really matter. We are here, after all."  
"Yes. I hadn't thought about that. I've not travelled much, so I suppose I just jumped at the opportunity."  
"Are you & Sherlock close?"  
"Close? No...I wouldn't say that. I mean, who is he really close with? John. Mrs. Hudson, perhaps...that's about all, no?"  
Mary looked at her with a quizzical look about her countenance. "Yes. I suppose so. So why did he invite you? Forgive me, but it seems odd."  
A soft breeze blew in from the sea. Molly looked out at it, & noticed that the sun hung lower now in the sky.  
"It is odd. I don't know. But I figured I may as well come than not. I'm not sorry."  
"Of course! I didn't mean...I'm glad you're here. It would've been so awkward...me, & all those Holmes boys," she laughed, & Molly joined her in her amusement.

"What is going on for dinner, mate?" John was hungry.  
"Well...the cook doesn't arrive until tomorrow morning, so I suppose we eat out."  
"Cook? Spared no expense, eh?"  
"It's a holiday, John. And I don't cook," Sherlock noticed the two women in the garden. He supposed he should go & see what their thoughts were on dinner.  
Molly was obliging, as was Mary. They settled on a restaurant within walking distance of the villa, Mycroft deciding to have a walk in the opposite direction. It was a pleasant dinner, full of local seafood & crisp salads. John remarked on Sherlock's appetite.  
"Well, the mussels are excellent. Why shouldn't I finish it off?"  
"Right, & the wine is too, apparently. I'd be careful mate. This place seethes with primal appetites," he looked knowingly at his friend  
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. The food is good. What's so primal about that?"  
John looked to Molly in answer. She blushed, guessing what he meant by it. John Watson had had too much to drink, & Mary noted it duly.  
She said, "We should head back, love. You'll be sorry in the morning if we linger too long..."  
And they left.  
Sherlock took the money left by John & paid the bill.  
"Shall we, Molly?"  
She smiled & rose from the table.  
They began to walk back to the villa leisurely.  
"Are you pleased with the accommodations?"  
"Of course, what's not to like?" Molly smiled at her companion.  
"Quite. I took your advice & rented a villa. I think it was best."  
"Yes," she replied. "Is Mycroft alright? He is an odd one."  
"Odd is an understatement. Yes, I dare say he is. He isn't used to company, so I imagine he will be spending most of his time alone, enjoying the garden."  
"Oh, but you don't."  
"Don't what?"  
"Enjoy being alone," she smiled.  
"No. Not as much as I once fancied, no." And they made their way into the villa.  
They parted outside their respective rooms. Molly thought he was much more pleasant than she had imagined him to be. Sherlock thought she looked lovely in the pale light. He wished to dismiss it. And for the night, he did, only to revisit the thought in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

She was reading in the garden. A large volume, & Sherlock wondered at it. He decided to see what it was she could be reading.  
"Mind if I sit here?"  
Molly started at this. "No! No...please. Sit down."  
"What are you reading?"  
"Anna Karenina. I've read it once before, but it's been quite some time. I forgot how much I like it." She touched the book tenderly. "Have you read it?"  
"I believe so...it sounds familiar. I cannot place it, however. I've likely deleted it as insignificant."  
"Insignificant? But it's...Tolstoy. He's one of the most important writers...really?"  
"Molly, I only remember that which is important. Everything else is wasted space in my mind."  
"How do you know what's important & what isn't?"  
He considered this a moment. "If I need to recall it with any effort, then it's not important."  
"Oh," she replied thoughtfully. "That doesn't seem like a very fool proof way of recall. But then, you're the professional, I guess," and she smiled.  
He returned it. And they sat in the garden conversing for a good bit of the afternoon.

Her mind drifted to & fro after returning to the house. She decided she would approach Mary about shopping with her. Best to do it while she still had a good bit of holiday left.  
She discovered her in the kitchen, brewing up a pot of coffee.  
"Rather late in the day for coffee, isn't it, Mary?"  
"Well, no need to get up in the morning. No harm in some coffee at this hour," and she smiled.  
"You know, I want properly able to pack before we left London. Unfortunately, my wardrobe is pretty limited. Would you be at all interested in helping me shop? I could really use some advice," Molly finished her speech & noted that Mary appeared delighted at the prospect.  
"A girls shopping excursion? I haven't done that in ages!"  
They readied themselves, & left a note for John.

The shops were bustling along the business district in Capri. Molly never enjoyed shopping, really, but she thought she might be able to get used to it. Mary was a charming shopping companion - so eager to please. The women tried on swimsuits, dresses with pretty floral patterns, shoes, & admired handbags of all varieties. When their day was done, they noticed the time. It was well into the evening.  
"Goodness, Molly. It is late. I believe we've missed dinner."  
"Perhaps you should call John. The two of you could go out. Lily always makes so much food, I'm sure there will be some leftovers for me."  
She took that advice.  
Molly entered the villa parcel laden. She was stumbling to her room when Mycroft appeared from the garden entrance.  
"Do you need help with those, Molly?"  
"Thanks, yes actually."  
"What on earth did you buy? An entire wardrobe?"  
"Very nearly."  
Mycroft took a few bags & helped her into her room.  
"Why?" He huffed.  
"Why what?"  
"Why did you purchase so much? Didn't you pack anything?"  
Molly smiled. "Of course I did. I simply didn't have everything I needed. First Italian holiday, Mycroft."  
Mycroft noted the the fact that he hadn't ever had an Italian holiday, either, but had no occasion to shop. He dismissed it as something he needn't trouble himself over.  
"Well, there's food in the kitchen. I'll see you in the morning," & he took his leave.

Molly began unpacking her parcels. She examined the pretty frocks, the swim cover ups, & the string bikini, which Mary insisted she buy. Molly wasn't sure about it, it wasn't really her taste. She was much more modest than a string bikini suggested. Her apprehension was magnified by the presence of so many men at the house. She could barely think what sort of look Mycroft would give her, or the remarks leveled by Sherlock, or the jokes John would make. It was nerve racking, the thought of it. She considered not going for a swim at all, but then quickly thought that that would surely ruin her time. She wasn't about to sacrifice her holiday to save face in front of a couple of Holmes's & a very attached Watson.

Little did she know that a certain Holmes would be most anxious to see Molly in her bikini. That not even he realized quite so much.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft Holmes was sipping his coffee. The villa was quiet, & the sun shone through the beveled windows, creating a smattering of light touching all aspects of the room. The eating area was adjacent to the kitchen, so when he needed refilling, he was only an arm's reach away. He sat reflecting on the holiday thus far while glancing the Times. Only a few days in, & he already felt better. No suit wearing, no urgent calls (though he had his mobile if an emergency beckoned); just tranquility. He believed that perhaps the place itself teemed with the stuff. Tranquil. Mycroft. How absurdly unthinkable.  
"Good morning Mycroft."  
"Morning Sherlock. Sleep well?"  
"Curiously, yes. Since I got here. Quite well," he said, as he poured himself out some coffee.  
"As have I. It's the air, perhaps."  
"It's the idleness."  
"Really, Sherlock. I believe you are being recusant purposefully."  
"Don't be absurd. But truly, when our minds are without useful occupation, they become stagnant. Dull. Ordinary...sleepy. You & I are not unlike, brother. I know that you are sleeping well for the same reason I am."  
Mycroft looked at his brother a moment. He thought about responding to his diatribe, but thought the better of it. Best not stir things, he had promised himself he'd be on good behavior. "Have you plans for today, then?"  
"Have you?" He eyed him curiously. He hadn't seen Mycroft much since their arrival. They had shared dinner together, but that was really all he could boast.  
"I thought about taking a walk down to the harbor. Perhaps exploring what wonders the sea holds."  
"Will you swim?" Sherlock was smiling. The thought of his brother in swim trunks was laughable.  
"No, no. Just a leisurely constitutional. Take in some of this lovely island. Care to join me?"  
"No. I think I'll hang back. Perhaps tomorrow, if you enjoy it, I'll join you." Mycroft nodded & stood.  
"Whatever your pleasure. I'm going to get on my way...no sense in hanging about. I'll return around dinner." And off he went.

Molly was readying herself for a dip in the pool on Mary's insistence. She really simply wished to spend the remainder of the day in the garden with Tolstoy, but Mary had indicated that Molly was missing the point of the holiday. Not at she couldn't read, but that she needed to enjoy other things, too. Why not try out the bikini?  
She was exceedingly uncomfortable. She fidgeted with the straps. She attempted to cover more of herself with the material. No good. She sighed, & put on the cover-up. She wondered for a moment where Sherlock was. She couldn't decide if she wanted him to see her like this or not.  
When she did see him, she decided she'd rather him not see her.  
He was poolside, in sunglasses, reading. But oh, thought Molly, he looks so...dashing. Even in swim trunks; he had on a white tee shirt, black trunks. The shirt hugged him in a most flattering manner. He hadn't looked up.  
She stood there, feeling ridiculous. Where were John & Mary? She decided standing there in her cover up wouldn't do, so she began to make her way towards a chair near where he sat.  
"Hello, Molly. Haven't seen you all day."  
"No...I..." Dammit, he was good looking. Stop it, she thought. So silly of her. "No. I've read in the garden most of the day," and she sat. "What are you reading?"  
He looked at the volume. "Leaves of Grass. A chap called..."  
"Oh! Whitman. Yes, I've read bits. Poetry isn't really my thing, but every so often..." Her voice trailed.  
"No. Nor mine. But this fellow's alright. All I could find, really. Somehow my reference books seemed too heavy to bring poolside."  
"There are loads of books in my room. Fiction, non-fiction..." She blushed. "I mean, if you dislike poetry."  
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind. For now," he opened the book to where he had been reading. "A Song of Myself will do," & he smiled.  
Mary then emerged suited for swimming, "Ready, Molls? Lets take a dip." And she dove in.  
"Oh...ok." Molly cringed. The thought of being so near Sherlock when she took off her cover up to reveal her skimpy suit underneath was maddening. She was not that girl, & she desperately didn't want anyone - especially him - to think that she was. Blast it.  
He was watching Mary swim when he glanced at Molly taking off that silly smock she wore. There was Molly Hooper, barely clothed. His mouth hung agape for a fraction of a second. Her pale skin looking even more so next to the black of the suit. Her light brown hair cascading down her back. The contours of her shape, curved, lean, all gave him pause. He had never noticed how terribly enticing she was. She moved, as if in slow motion, to the pool, & dove in with Mary. It snapped him out of his reverie.  
"Coming in, Sherlock?" Called out Mary. "John is getting ready."  
"No. No...I think I'll just..." He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Thankfully, John arrived & spared him explanation.  
John Watson dove in with the two women, & Sherlock Holmes got up to take his leave. He found that he needed a moment. Perhaps a cold shower.  
No one noticed this abrupt departure except Mary, & she eyed Molly knowingly.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock Holmes emerged from his shower a bit ill at ease. He told himself it was the air he had, not so long before, longed to fill his lungs with. He told himself it was the excessive rest. The food. The alcohol he wasn't used to consuming. For all of his acute perception, he ignored the most obvious: his libido was in full force, & Molly Hooper was its object of desire.  
He heard Lily, the cook & housekeeper fiddling about in the kitchen. Dinner must be on its way. He heard Mycroft enter the house. Dinner certainly was, then. He heard John & Mary talking as they entered their rooms to change. What he did not hear, & what he was waiting for, was Molly to enter. Unsure why this was, exactly, but he calmly told himself that he was merely hungry & wished everyone to be present so that Lily could hurry along with dinner.  
When no such sound was heard, he quitted his room. Mycroft was already seated at the table with tea.  
"Well Mycroft. Still pale as ever. It appears the sun could offer you no improvement."  
He didn't respond.  
"But then, I suppose you wouldn't miss dinner, even if it meant quelling your stark features with a soft bronze."  
"If I didn't know better, brother, I'd say you were flirting with me."  
Sherlock laughed. His face then dropped. Molly had entered donning a pretty pink frock. He cleared his throat.  
"Good evening, Molly. John & Mary are still changing. Did you enjoy the pool?"  
Molly blushed, recalling her ridiculous swimwear. "Yes. It was nice. Do you not swim?"  
"Only when pressed."  
Mycroft looked up. He heard something in his brother's voice he wasn't used to hearing. Nerves.  
"Is everything all right, Sherlock?" It was barely detectable, & only one at had known Sherlock for as long as he had would have been able to discern it.  
"Of course. Why?"  
Mycroft shook his head & turned back to the paper. He suspected the reason for his brother's unease, & didn't wish to go further at risk of embarrassing him. He was proud of himself. A few weeks ago, he would've marched on, not caring what his comments would do to Sherlock.  
"Molly!" Mary exclaimed as she emerged from her room. "So much fun today! And you did look lovely in that suit, didn't she, love?"  
John cleared his throat, "She did, yep. Yes...lovely." Mycroft looked up once more. He sensed a pattern.  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Have a seat, John," and he pulled the chair out next to him.  
"See?" Mary's eyes shone. "You have all these boys stumbling over themselves," she winked at Molly. Mary knew exactly what was going on. She was, perhaps, the only one that did. Though Mycroft was catching on.  
Molly blushed deeply. "Oh! Well, Mary. I dunno about all that. But the swim was fun, thanks."  
Lily brought out the dinner.  
"So...Molly," Mycroft began. "You were shopping yesterday, I believe." He was tucking in to a healthy portion of seafood pasta.  
"Yes. Oh, & thanks for your help. I don't know why I bought so very much. Mary's doing," and she smiled at her friend. It was nice to have a friend, she thought.  
Mary smiled at her. "You deserve to treat yourself."  
"Quite. And what did you purchase on your excursion?" Though most at the table weren't catching on to Mycroft's interrogation, Sherlock knew where this was heading, & his color deepened.  
"Oh, a few frocks. A bag, some shoes..."  
"A swimsuit?" Mycroft stole a glance at Sherlock.  
"Yes...as a matter of fact..." She blushed.  
"And what was your day like, brother? Interrogate any locals? Rig any elections? No? Its no wonder you're scraping the finish off that plate. You should smoke. It's better for the figure." Sherlock was seething.  
Mycroft eyed Sherlock. Should he engage him? No. Best not. He didn't wish to embarrass him, at least not at this juncture. Still, he would make one last reference.  
"No, Sherlock. I was merely enjoying the atmosphere, as were you, by the looks of your barely touched dinner," and he got up. He decided to take his brothers advice. He hardly ever smoked, but he thought it might be pleasant with his after dinner brandy.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock watched as Molly arose from the table & retreated into the garden. He played with the idea of following her until he noticed Mary going. He thought it best not to pursue it. Silly thought. No, best just to go & read a bit before heading to bed.

Mary was going to go after Molly, but noticed Mycroft smoking a cigarette in the far corner of the garden. The honeysuckle fragrance was heady. It made her mind spin. She decided to go speak with Mycroft. She was certain that he was just as anxious to see Sherlock & Molly together as she was. The wine & flowers made her a touch more daring.  
"Mycroft?"  
"Hello, Mary. Lovely evening..."  
"It certainly is, yes," she paused. she thought fleetingly that Mycroft would appreciate forthrightness, so she forged on. "Sherlock is an interesting fellow. Do the two of you always go on the way you were at dinner?"  
"Go on? I suppose so, yes. He & I have an interesting relationship."  
"Are you & Sherlock very close, then?"  
Mycroft eyed her. "Close? Well, not in the traditional sense, no. But I care about him. I believe he regards me with some modicum of affection."  
Mary considered this a moment. It made perfect sense. "I believe that anything that involves Sherlock would be untraditional."  
Mycroft smirked at this.  
Mary pressed on, "Has he ever had a girlfriend?"  
This made Mycroft pause. Something was certainly afoot. "A girlfriend? Not that I'm aware. Why do you ask?"  
"Well...you certainly seemed mindful of what transpired during dinner. You made reference to it."  
Mycroft looked at Mary skeptically. Was she attempting matchmaking with his brother? His brother, whom it was doubtful had ever lost his virginity? This would be delightfully amusing. "Mary, I'm trying to make sense of what you're seemingly suggesting. It's a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. Are you hinting at Sherlock pursuing a...relationship romantic in nature with Molly?"  
Mary nodded.  
He laughed. "You are a bold one." He stopped. He had promised himself that he would be on his best behavior. He had promised to enjoy himself. These two things didn't necessarily coincide. However, with this development, they may enjoy harmonious interaction. He may be helping his brother, while having a bit of fun in the interim. Yes. He was beginning to like Mary very much. "Well, Mary. As I said, you are bold. However, I believe that your boldness might prove fruitful in this endeavor. Perhaps I might assist you..."  
"Exactly. Precisely. You certainly noticed Sherlock's uneasiness. He's attracted to her. All you need to do is encourage him a bit. I'll talk to John. Molly will be much more difficult. She has dreadfully low self esteem. Perhaps you might just...I dunno...compliment her occasionally? I'll do the rest," Mary finished. She was pleased.  
Mycroft downed his sherry. "My experience in offering compliments to the fairer sex is woefully limited...however, I'll brush up on my Robert Browning. I dare say I'll have volumes to offer our shy friend. Sherlock will thank me," he finished. Well, perhaps not thank, but he'll likely be less than angry.  
"Wonderful! We'll start tomorrow," she thought a moment. "You know how to be discreet, I trust?"  
"My dear Mary, don't you know who I am? My entire life has been spent exercising the delicate dance of discretion. For god sake, we are British," he smiled at her knowingly. Mary laughed. "Of course, how silly of me, " and she quitted the garden.

The house held a peaceful air about it that evening, almost as if readying itself for the strangeness afoot. Molly, in her modest nightgown, sleeping soundly with a small smile curving her mouth. Mary, with her love, after explaining her plan to him, & John doubting its success, insisting she not interfere. Mycroft, smelling the sweet air & reflecting on what an excellent brother he was. And Sherlock, fidgeting, turning, unsettled, unkempt, unsatisfied, with the image of a bookworm pathologist in a skimpy black bikini burned on his eyelids.


	9. Chapter 9

He wondered at Mycroft's insistence that he accompany him into the town the next day, especially following the previous evening's conversation. No matter. It was best that he quit the villa. Lingering too long in the place had caused a riff in his mind. He disliked it, so much so that an afternoon with Mycroft almost seemed bearable.  
They happened upon a quaint cafe, & Mycroft was ready for some tea. They obtained their beverages, & sat making idle conversation. The opening was approaching for him to mention Miss Hooper, he could sense it. He would need to tread lightly, for he knew Sherlock was expecting some mention of it. He had the acumen that a different approach altogether may need to be taken.  
"What do you think of poetry, Sherlock?"  
"Not much. Why?"  
"I had noticed you with a volume of an American poet. Whitman, I believe?"  
He should've known it wouldn't have escaped Mycroft's notice. "Yes. I had been reading a collection called, "Leaves of Grass." Have you read it?"  
He snickered. "Hardly, no. But I think it's delightful that you've taken up such occupation. Poetry is food for the soul, or so I'm to understand."  
"I believe the adage you're referring to is poetry is the food of love," Sherlock corrected. He stopped. He changed color.  
"Is that right? I couldn't recall," Mycroft returned as he sipped his tea. He liked the way in which this was progressing. "Well, whatever it is, I'm pleased to notice your attention to it."  
"And what of you, brother? Enjoyed any poetry while here? It seems apt."  
"Actually, now that you mention it, I had begun to read some Robert Browning last evening. Charming writer. Passionate. Loved his wife dearly."  
"Since when do you care if a poet loved his wife? Poetry? Love? Marriage? What's this Italian air done to Mycroft?" Sherlock smirked.  
"Since spending leisurely time with such lovely company..." Mycroft was exceedingly pleased.

"Molly!" Mary was becoming impatient. She had been waiting on her friend for almost half an hour. "How long does it take you to get ready?" Honestly, she hardly wore makeup or did up her hair.  
"I'm not going, Mary. I'd rather stay behind. You go," she was emerging from the hallway into the sitting area.  
"What? But we've made these plans. I need your help! John is taking me to dinner tomorrow, & I don't want to be rushing about all day looking for a suitable dress."  
"I'm not good at this, Mary. You're better off just taking John & asking him what he likes you in." Molly pouted. She honestly didn't want to go. She wanted to stay behind & read. Maybe take a turn about the garden. This was supposed to be relaxing, & she was feeling stressed about not having fashion sense.  
"You're going. Go fetch your sandals. I'm calling the cab," she finished. Well, desperate times.

Molly was beyond apprehensive. She had left apprehension behind ages ago. She was scared. She didn't want Mary turning her into something she wasn't. That bikini was a perfect example. She would need to have a sit down with her to discuss things.  
"Mary..." Molly began.  
Mary saw this coming. She was sipping on some wine. They hadn't even made it to the first shop yet. "Yes?"  
"I...want to thank you for taking me along. But...I think you're trying to dress me up. I think at this is more about me than it is about you & your date with John." She finished. She was pleased. Mary needed to understand who Molly was, exactly.  
"Look, Molly. Maybe I would like to see you wear more flattering clothes. You're a lovely girl. You sell yourself short."  
"But I'm fine with that..."  
"You shouldn't be!" She stopped. Tone it down, Mary. No need to alarm the poor girl. "Ok, Molly. I tell you what. We go & shop, you try on things, I'll try on things. Just like the other day. If you don't like anything, don't buy it. Ok?"  
Molly nodded slowly. A smile crept along her mouth.  
Mary knew that this would be difficult. She didn't want to change Molly, she just wanted to boost her self image, & what better way than to enjoy the way you look? She was already quite intelligent. It was no small task she had set for herself.

They returned with a few items, Molly having purchased one rather pretty frock. Mary was attempting to devise the best way for Sherlock to see her in it.  
"You should wear that tomorrow evening, Molly. Join us for dinner."  
"Don't be ridiculous, Mary. It's your date."  
Mary sighed. Right. She was hoping that Mycroft had had some success with Sherlock.


	10. Chapter 10

Molly had already situated herself on the sofa with a book when Mycroft & Sherlock came back. They were arguing about something, & Molly looked up from her station quizzically.  
"I'm not going to pursue this subject any longer, Mycroft. It's tiresome. If you say you read it in that volume, so be it."  
Mycroft spotted Molly & approached her. "Molly, you read poetry, yes?"  
"A little," she replied.  
"Is poetry the food of love?"  
Molly's mouth opened a moment. "Ah, well, I suppose."  
"Is that the adage? Mycroft is insisting that I am in error, though he clearly misspoke as well. I can't imagine why. If there's food involved, he almost never errs."  
Mycroft laughed at Sherlock's jab.  
"Oh! You mean Shakespeare." Molly exclaimed.  
"Was that the fellow?" Mycroft considered the possibility.  
"I believe it's, "If music be the food of love, play on." Molly smiled. She felt like she was being useful.  
"Ah, well. Sherlock must have love on his mind, then. It was his answer to the puzzle."  
Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously as he exited to his bedroom. He looked at Molly. "I am sorry. Mycroft can be so very...temperamental."  
"Don't bother apologizing. I rather like him," she smiled at Sherlock, whose face had fallen.  
"Like him? Whatever for?"  
"Dunno. He's...serene." She looked at Sherlock, expecting assent. She wasn't appeased. Mary interrupted the pair & seized on the opportunity.  
"Oh! Sherlock. How was your day?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Do convince Molly to join John & I for dinner tomorrow evening. She insists she won't go."  
Sherlock was still standing, hands in pockets. "Well, Mary. If Molly had rather not, I can't see any occasion for her to go."  
"But there's only one week left of our holiday! We need to get her out of this villa," Mary was in earnest. John entered the sitting room.  
"John...good. Tell Molly she must join us tomorrow."  
"Ah, Mary? Why would I do that? Does she want to go?"  
Molly was sick of being treated as though she wasn't in the room. "No, actually. It's your date. I'm perfectly content here."  
"But she has a beautiful new dress & everything. Shame to waste it."  
Sherlock looked at Molly. He considered the dress factor. "Have you a new frock?"  
"Yes. I have."  
"And do you have reason to wear it in London?"  
"None than I can think of."  
"Then you should go." He was smug in his reply.  
Mary was jubilant. "See? Just come, for god sake Molly! John shan't mind. Do you, John?"  
John Watson looked at the floor. "No. No, I suppose not." He did mind, but he didn't want to upset Mary. He briefly toyed with the idea of letting Sherlock know of the ministrations being leveled against him & Molly, but he also thought his friend needed laid in the worst way.  
"What if..." Mary began. "Suppose Sherlock came along? As a...date of sorts? Would that entice you?"  
Molly swallowed hard. "I..uh...I mean..."  
"Excuse me, Mary. Did I hear you correctly? Are you suggesting that I take Molly out on a date?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.  
"For want of a better term. Yes." She considered him a moment. There was a seed there. Mycroft had done his job.  
"Well then. What do you say, Molly?" He was surprisingly accommodating.  
"I...guess so." Molly just wanted this to be over with. Whatever it took to shut everyone up & leave her alone was fine by her.  
Mary clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! It's settled, then. See you in the morning. Coming, love?"  
And John followed along in her wake.  
Sherlock took his leave. He thought about what had just transpired. He thought about Mycroft. About poetry. About the small smile of Molly's when she looked at him. This place, this paradise was transforming him, & he felt compelled to relent.


	11. Chapter 11

Molly had barely left her room all day. She was beginning to wish she hadn't come, after all. Though she liked Mary, she was being rather pushy. And she couldn't fathom why Sherlock had agreed to Mary's suggestion of a date. She really wished she was back at home, in her flat, reading Anna Karenina. Hang it. It was already four p.m. She need to shower.  
Luckily, no one was about & she could ready herself privately. After showering, she laid out the dress on the bed. She had selected it, but now she began wondering just how much Mary had influenced her purchase. She studied it a moment, & went over to the other bags from her initial excursion to obtain the makeup. Molly seldom wore the stuff, but she recalled how to administer it.

John & Mary had had a slight row earlier that afternoon. He felt that she was going too far, that perhaps Molly wasn't interested in Sherlock romantically any longer. She should reign it in a bit. If things don't go smoothly this evening, let it go. Surely everyone can enjoy the remaining six days or so without all of this silliness. Mary quietly agreed. She simply liked Molly very much. She thought that Sherlock fancied her & just needed a push. And even if Molly didn't think she liked him any longer, it was surely because he gave her no encouragement. But yes, John was right. She was being almost aggressive. She would curb it, perhaps have a talk with Mycroft tomorrow if it went badly that evening.  
She began readying herself as well. She wondered idly if Molly required some help with her hair, but thought if she did, she would seek her out. Best just to let it go. John was right, they barely knew each other.  
She was right. She saw that as soon as Molly emerged from her room.

Mycroft had spent the entirety of his day in the garden. He fancied he noticed his skin reacting to the sun exposure. How delightful. Sherlock will surely notice & make some silly comment.  
Sherlock. Mycroft did feel rather bad for his brother. So cooped up in his mind, never enjoying anything. Well, not that Mycroft ever really enjoyed much, either. He felt he was doing his brother a great service by encouraging him with Molly. Rather like returning a favor by him being on holiday. He was enjoying himself far more than he had ever imagined he would. Italy was everything he had heard it was, & more. There was something about the air of the place that made one quite forget oneself. Intoxicating. He almost envied his brother, what with his date. Perhaps he, too, should seek the company of someone romantically.  
Silly thought. He, in a relationship? How preposterous. But he was certain that he at least could boast more experience in that area than his brother. He knew Robert Browning & all of his tortured love. He could spin a tapestry of poetry that could make any conquest he might desire weak in the knees. So could Sherlock, he was certain, if he put forth the tiniest effort.  
With that thought, he entered the villa, & saw Molly exit her room. Poetry, indeed.

Sherlock Holmes had no idea what was happening to him. He suspected, but was so put off by the idea that he dismissed it. How irksome. All day long he pondered his banter with Mary the night previous. He had smoked three cigarettes during the reflection. This business was causing loss of his resolve. He had only wanted some company in the loveliness of Italy. None of this dating business. It was he, he admitted, that insisted Molly come. Perhaps, if he looked at it deeply enough, he would be able to ascertain the why.  
She was very intelligent. Very sweet. Awkward. Not terribly social. And she looked absolutely delightful in a bikini.  
She was, in truth, the only woman he had ever known that didn't repel him after any length of time. He chided her, to be sure, but she bore it most elegantly. Well, he would enjoy her company that evening, & be done with it. Risky business, this. He needed to keep his wits about him, string bikini notwithstanding.  
He readied himself in his room, barely seeing anyone all day. Molly for only a fleeting moment that morning. He had gotten out a pair of chinos & a short sleeve white button down shirt. Comfortable, but not entirely casual.  
He prepared himself. He had showered, shaved, tousled his hair. Aftershave. Cologne? Best not. If they dine outside, there would be insects to consider. There. He hadn't had a date in ten years, surely. Well, that librarian woman he had asked out hardly counted. It was a stakeout. More recently, The Woman had suggested dinner. But he thought her rather ridiculous. A dominatrix, for god sake.  
He looked at himself in the glass. Yes. That would do.  
He emerged from his room & wandered down the hall to the sitting room. At first, he had no idea why everyone was hanging about looking at the doorway. Then he saw. Molly was standing there, & no one had spoken. He seemed to have lost the use of his voice as well.


	12. Chapter 12

"When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,  
Either hand  
On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace  
Of my face,  
Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech..."  
Mycroft had uttered this under his breath, but it was so still in the room that everyone heard him. He stopped, & explained, "Robert Browning."  
Molly Hooper, though not looking magnificent, certainly was striking in her floral frock. It hit her leg quite high above her knee. The V of the neckline plunged low to expose some cleavage; it mimicked the same shape in the back. The pattern was antique in nature, a dark green, with little flowers of all colors smattered along it. It gathered at her small waist, with a small bow in the back. Her hair was done up on top of her head, ringlets framing her face. Her makeup was only barely visible. The gloss on her lips the only thing obvious. Striking.  
"Molly. You look incredible," Mary spoke after Mycroft. "But your heels? What happened?"  
"Uncomfortable. I prefer flats. I'll return the heels tomorrow," she replied. The effect she had had on the company seemed almost lost on her.  
"May I say, Molly, you are a vision of loveliness. Sherlock is a lucky man to have you to gaze on all evening," & Mycroft kissed her hand.  
Molly smiled. "You are very kind, Mycroft. I had no idea you were so familiar with Browning."  
"Well, one does what one can to keep the mind nimble," & he left to go change for his solitary dinner.  
John smiled. "Yes, Molly. Certainly very lovely indeed. Shall we off, then?"  
He & Mary left arm in arm.  
Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot. "You look beautiful, Molly."  
"Thanks, Sherlock. You look very nice, too." She smiled again. "Well, I believe we should follow John & Mary. I haven't any idea where we are going."  
He nodded. She walked over toward him, & he offered his arm in the same fashion John had just done. It seemed appropriate. Molly looked up at him, & felt a jolt in her stomach. She was about to have dinner with Sherlock Holmes. On a date. And he looked absolutely delicious himself. Stop it Molly. She giggled a touch as she accepted his arm.  
"What's funny?"  
"Nothing. I was just thinking about dessert."  
"Dessert?"  
"Yes. I have a bit of a sweet tooth."  
And they left the villa into the gathering evening, the air orange & sweet, the company eager, & the sound of the sea chanting a primal urge of soft passion to lull them into a quiet submission.


	13. Chapter 13

The wine flowed freely, Mary made certain of that. The foursome laughed, they ate, they drank. The restaurant was lovely, romantic. It had small white lights adorning the outside seating area, which was heavy with floral fragrance. That, in tandem with the wine, caused Molly to quite forget herself. She was free spirited. She was relaxed. She was funny, witty, delightful.  
Sherlock was entranced. He never believed Molly capable of such behavior. Perhaps it was the dress. The wine. The honeysuckle. Whatever it was, he was completely enthralled. He longed for the evening to go on & on. Her charms were difficult to ignore.  
Mary & John decided to make their exit after the tiramisu was finished. They left their euros, they left Sherlock & Molly alone.

"Do you think it's wise? I've never seen him so intoxicated."  
"It's fine, John. Trust me. It'll be fine. Molly is a big girl."  
John could only nod in response. He wanted to get Mary to bed. The magic of the place had increased his already healthy libido tenfold.

When John & Mary left, the relaxed nature left a bit, too. Molly was suddenly aware of her behavior, her assertiveness. She smiled at her date.  
"Shall we head back?" She asked.  
"If you like," Sherlock replied.  
He paid the bill, & upon their leaving, noticed a path by the restaurant that was adorned with blooms. Despite the hour, their color was so bright that he could easily discern each one.  
"Care to have a walk down this path? It looks lovely."  
"Ok." She was nervous again. What if she stumbled? What if she fell? Thank goodness she didn't wear those heels.  
The path led downward toward an overlook of the Mediterranean. The moon hung low in the sky, causing a lovely pattern on the water.  
They stood next to each other, leaning on a banister which had been placed there specifically for this occupation.  
"It is beautiful here, Sherlock. Thank you so much for inviting me. I'd probably never have seen it if you hadn't."  
"It's been my pleasure," he stopped. He realized just how much pleasure he had derived from her presence. "Molly...I'm...sorry. For ever having treated you badly. I'm not, as you might've guessed, good with people. John is really the only exception to this..." He turned toward her. She blushed & looked at him.  
"You're doing fine. No need to apologize. I understand...I'm the same way. Though, admittedly, a bit more nice about it." She smiled.  
"Quite," he whispered. His hand reached up to touch her cheek, & her eyes closed. It was going to happen. He was this close, & he was going to kiss her. He leaned in. His lips began to brush along hers...& suddenly, he stopped & pulled away.  
"Forgive me. I...forgot myself. I'm very sorry. I...good night, Molly."  
And he scampered up the path, leaving her alone in the moonlight.

Molly stood there for some time, having already shed a few tears of humiliation. Damn Mary & her stupid suggestions. Damn her & this stupid dress. Damn the wine, the flowers, all of bloody Italy & it's sea.  
She went back to the villa. She entered & spotted someone on the sofa smoking. Blast. Sherlock was waiting for her.  
"Good evening, Molly," Mycroft's voice disturbed the darkness.  
"Mycroft?"  
"Guilty."  
She sighed & stole one of his cigarettes. "How was your evening?"  
"Better than yours, by the look of it."  
"Mine was crap." She lit the cigarette. "Well, not all of it. Just the last bit."  
Mycroft leaned forward. "And how did my little brother manage to fuck up an evening with you?" He smiled.  
"I am shocked, Mycroft. I've never heard such language from your lips."  
"No. But in all seriousness, Molly what happened?"  
Molly told the whole of the story. Somehow, whether it was the wine or not, confiding in Mycroft seemed just the thing to do.  
He smiled at her.  
"Never fear, my dear. I'll fix it for you. If I know anyone in this world, it's Sherlock Holmes. By tomorrow evening, he shall be begging your forgiveness."  
Molly sighed. Is that what she wanted? She couldn't be certain, though Sherlock begging her for anything was not an unpleasant thought.  
"Well, don't do anything too rash. I just wanted dinner. And not to be humiliated." She laughed, & put out the cigarette.  
Molly got up & went to Mycroft, kissing his cheek. "Goodnight, then."  
"Goodnight, Molly."  
He rubbed his face as she took her leave. Silly Sherlock. How much teaching must he provide his brilliant brother? Tomorrow would, no doubt, prove to be very amusing.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for the reviews, the follows, the faves! It certainly helps to know people are reading!  
On to Mycroft, who, you may have guessed, is second only to Sherlock in my esteem. This is the chapter I've longed to write since the outset.

The sun was unforgiving. It pierced his eyes like knives. He longed to roll over, but that would require effort he wasn't certain he could spend. He sighed, recalling with an ache, what had happened the night previous. He longed to forget it. He wished he'd never have succumbed to the charms of the island. What would've happened if he had let himself go utterly? He dismissed it, but fleetingly recalled that afternoon in the cold water after seeing her in her swimsuit. He couldn't even think her name without shame. He'd ruined everything. He'd need to spend the remaining five days cooped up with Mycroft. Shit.  
As if on cue, he heard someone enter his room.  
"Get up, Sherlock. You need to get up, get dressed. We are going out." And Mycroft left.  
What the bloody hell?

Sherlock had his sunglasses on, but it did little to quell the ferocity of the sun. His head felt as though it had been smashed against a blunt object. Several hundred times.  
"That's what Bloody Mary's are for, brother."  
"Pardon?" He wasn't certain if he was referring to the drink or John Watson's girlfriend.  
"Alcohol. Drink some. It shall lessen the agony you are feeling. Trust me."  
He eyed his brother skeptically & took a sip. Good god. Dreadful.  
"Why are we here, Mycroft? What do you want with me? I'd much rather be in bed."  
Mycroft smiled at his little brother. He loved him so. But he was, admittedly, an enormous prat.  
"Because, Sherlock. You've fucked things up royally with Molly, & you require setting right. I know you fancy her, I know she fancies you. You need to be less... you...& fix it up properly."  
"Did you say I fucked things up royally? Did you actually utter those words?"  
"I did. You need to know I am in earnest. You need to grow up. Now is as good a time as ever. Have at it & be done." Mycroft was exceedingly pleased.  
Sherlock doubted. He shifted. He frowned. "And what of you?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"What about you? Are you immune to primal appetites?"  
"Hardly. But I am not the issue. What are you going to do about Molly?"  
"What should I do?"  
Mycroft smiled widely. "You need to go back to that villa, get on your knees, & apologize for your outlandish behavior. You need to tell her how you feel, exactly. You need to say she would put Venus to shame, & that you would be the happiest man alive if she would consider you."  
"Consider me what?"  
"Whatever you wish her to consider you as."  
"But I don't know. That's just it...why are these silly things so complex?"  
"They are only as complex as you make them."  
"What the hell does that mean?"  
"It means, brother dear, go back to the villa & shag Molly Hooper into the mattress. Stop being obtuse. It's tiresome. Besides, nothing quells the effects of a hangover quite as well as sex."  
Sherlock eyed him. "How would you know?"  
"I don't kiss & tell, Sherlock. One of the many differences between you & I."  
Sherlock sipped the drink once more. "How do you know all of this? About Molly? Me? Sex?"  
Mycroft leaned back in his chair. He smiled even more broadly. This was excellent fun. "I observe. She confided in me. I'm a touch more...considerate than you. It all adds up to my superior mind, character, indeed, person."  
Sherlock huffed. "Superior. You're joking."  
"Superior, & I'm not. Now go. You're interrupting my holiday."  
Sherlock Holmes laughed. He did, in truth, love his brother. Git that he was.


	15. Chapter 15

Strange, what one thinks about when one is embarking on a potentially life altering event. As Sherlock made his way back to the villa on foot, he began to think about his violin. His fingers itched to play. He had assumed that he wouldn't require it, as he would be on holiday, & what pressing matters or concerns would arise while thus engaged?  
He had underestimated Molly. Molly, whom he could trust. Molly, sweet, awkward, fairly alone. Molly, who surely at one point, had fancied him enough to help save his life. She was beautiful, he had just been too daft to see it properly. He found her awkwardness endearing; her stammer, while it had been recently shed, was equally so. He now knew why he had invited her to Italy. He reciprocated her feelings, & here was the only place he could've realized it. London was too distracting, full of work. Here, in Capri, he was able to notice things about himself that he would never have paid mind to there. Lovely, horrible place.

She was the pressing matter his violin longed to subjugate.

He entered the villa. Empty. Check the garden.

There, sitting ever so beautifully with her volume, sitting amongst blooms of effervescent comeliness, sat Molly. He stopped, his breath labored from the walk uphill.  
He approached her apprehensively. He was suddenly unsure; unsure of his ability to declare himself, unsure of her reaction, unsure, indeed, of his own.  
"Molly?"  
Her back froze. He did the same. Stupid. Just go over & say something. Remember Mycroft. No, hideous thought.  
He approached her so that he was now facing her, & the look about her face was indiscernible.  
"Molly. Ah...good morning. May I sit here?" He motioned toward an obliging chair not three feet from where she sat.  
"No stopping you, I suppose," & she retreated back to her book.  
He went to the seat. He sat. He fidgeted.  
"So...what are you reading?"  
Molly looked over the rim of her sunglasses. Could he be serious? "Why?"  
"Well, I thought it a convenient segue to my real purpose."  
"Skip it & apologize."  
He was a bit taken aback. She was forthright in her manner. He liked it. "Yes, well. As you say, I am sorry for last evening. I suppose...I was confused. Something quite foreign to me. And I didn't wish to embark on something with you...without fully knowing what I was about."  
Molly smiled. Mycroft was damn good. "It's alright, Sherlock. I understand. The wine...we drank quite a bit. We can forget the entire thing & go on with the holiday." And she returned to her book.  
He leaned a bit closer. "But...that's not what I wish to happen."  
"Pardon?" She looked up once more.  
"I...don't want to forget about it. I'd rather we..." His voice trailed. He cleared his throat. "I'd rather we, er, see what would have happened if I hadn't been such a prat."  
Molly gawked at him unblinkingly, though he wouldn't have known, since her sunglasses prevented him access to her eyes.  
"You what?"  
"Please don't make me repeat myself."  
"Sorry. But I'm not certain I understood you fully. You want to...have sex?" She blushed deeply.  
He sat back & ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes. And no...I mean...a bit more."  
Se wondered what he meant by more than sex. Was he some sort of perv?  
He sensed her confusion. "Molly. I'm trying to tell you that I...like you. Warmly. Adoringly. Sexually. What have you."  
The thoughts that were racing through her mind cannot be described. She doubted. She was suspicious he was playing some cruel joke. She laughed. She blushed. She couldn't believe it...this person...this man...whom she believed she had once fancied, but dismissed it as an impossibility of ever manifesting itself in reality, was declaring himself to her. How on earth did this happen? Italy. Lovely, lovely Italy. With its wine & food & olive trees.  
"Oh," was all she could muster. But she smiled deeply.


	16. Chapter 16

The moment seemed to linger a touch longer than she would've thought. Here she was, in a picturesque garden full of blooms & fragrance, & Sherlock Holmes had just declared himself. She felt frozen, glued to her seat.  
"Oh...is that all you have to say?" He seemed a bit disappointed.  
"Well. I mean...no. No." Molly was stupefied. She hadn't been prepared for this. "No. I'd like to say...can I have I moment?"  
He didn't answer her as she stood. Instead, he stood with her & grabbed her wrist. He pulled her close, her breath was quick. "You've had many many moments, Molly Hooper. I'm taking this one." And he pressed his lips to hers, opening them & deepening the kiss with passion.

When they emerged from his bedroom, the rest of the party had already finished dinner.  
Mycroft was sipping port & reading in a large armchair. John & Mary were quite comfortable on the sofa together, talking about what they wished to do the remaining few days of the holiday.  
"Well, Sherlock," said Mycroft as the pair entered the room. "And how are we feeling? Refreshed?" He was smug.  
Sherlock's color deepened a touch. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Very." He took Molly's hand & brought her to the love seat.  
Mary was beaming at them. "So...haven't seen you all day. Did you...what will you be doing tomorrow?" They weren't certain whom she was addressing.  
Molly spoke, "Sorry, Mary. Whom do you mean?"  
"Both of you," She nodded knowingly.  
"Oh...dunno. I'd like to see the Mediterranean before we go...perhaps the Blue Grotto. Other than that...I suppose just hang about here." She was uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat. Sherlock did the same.  
"We can do that, if you like. I've heard it's lovely," he winced slightly at the "we", not used to employing such a term.  
"Oh! I didn't mean..."  
"Of course you should do that. John & I saw it just the other day. Incredible. The place really does glow blue," she interjected to spare Molly any explanation. She could sense her nerves.  
Molly smiled at her. "Yes. Thank you Mary," & she stood. "You know, I'm not hungry. Think I'll turn in." Molly retreated to her bedroom without preamble.  
Sherlock looked after her.  
He turned to Mycroft. "Well, I'm famished. Any dinner left, brother? Or did you feel especially peckish & consume the whole of it?" He stood.  
"No, no, Sherlock. I imagined you had worked up quite an appetite. I left you a sizable portion."

Molly changed for bed, wanting to avoid further interrogation by showering. If that afternoon hadn't been so...beautiful, she likely would've died on the spot from embarrassment. Sherlock was lovely. He had been alternately gentle & passionate. He had explored her with curiosity, tenderness, & eagerness simultaneously. They had spoken, too. Not much, mind, but enough so that she felt like she now knew more than just his body. How many times they made love, she couldn't say...she had lost count after seven. He had physical vitality, to be sure.  
She discovered he wasn't a virgin, though he could boast only two partners before her. She felt almost ashamed when she revealed her experience...not that it was plentiful, by any means. But a bit more than two.  
She was confused, however. She hadn't told him how she felt. She wasn't certain where today had left them. Were they together? Would this simply be a fleeting moment (or 5 hours) of passion? Was it merely the island, or would this continue when they returned to London?  
Molly decided she would speak with him tomorrow about it. Yes. She wasn't wholly attached yet. Best to give him the opportunity to end it by admitting it was a lapse in judgement. Her heart jumped when she thought of the possibility of him saying he had no intention of ending anything.

Little did she know that Sherlock Holmes was mentally occupied in the same fashion as she was, angling to speak with Mycroft as to how to proceed.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock didn't wish to speak openly in front of John & Mary. He knew too well the remarks, not that Mycroft wouldn't have his share, but he had been more intimate with Mycroft on this trip. He rather liked it. Yet he would insist to his brother he despised it.  
"Mycroft. Care to join me for a cigarette in the garden?"  
He looked up at his brother who was now standing, ready to head out. "Well, Sherlock. I thought you'd quit."  
"I'm on holiday. Didn't bring patches."  
Mycroft stood smiling in a smug manner. "Alright then. Lets go."

The garden was dimly lit by the moonlight, the sky filled with stars. The gentle slope downward toward the sea filled with blooms looked menacing if one wasn't sure-footed. There was a patio where Molly would often sit not 15 feet from the glass door, it had a beautiful thick wooden table, mahogany perhaps, & several reclining chairs. The flowers that adorned the patio weren't so sickly sweet as those down the slope, but their fragrance made their presence known.  
The pair sat at the table & Sherlock offered Mycroft a cigarette.  
"Well Sherlock. Obviously you wished to speak with me about something in particular. What is it?"  
"Yes. Yes. I do...I'm not certain how to handle things with Molly."  
"I believe you spent most of the day handling things."  
"This is serious, Mycroft."  
"Very well. What would you like to see happen?"  
Sherlock looked away. He thought for a moment. "I suppose I'd like to spend the remainder of our time here in similar fashion...perhaps on a few excursions."  
Mycroft laughed. Sherlock started, "What's so funny?"  
"You are, dear brother. Give a child a taste of candy...they'll never eat anything else again. But in all seriousness. That's rather selfish, don't you think? What will become of this when we return home? Will you give her up? Will you continue on? Molly will want to know these things. And are you in a relationship?" Mycroft's eyes appeared to tear at the word. "If you like the sex, you need to consider these things. If you like her more than simply insofar as you can shag her...well...that's another matter."  
Sherlock inhaled the cigarette deeply. Blasted relationship matters. This is precisely why he hated it. Relationships. This was all John Watson's fault. If he hadn't left & shacked up with Mary, he wouldn't have desired a holiday in the first place, & none of this would have happened.  
"I don't wish to be an ass. But I simply don't know. I don't know if I am capable of a relationship in London. I can't even say I'm capable of one here, though it seems more likely."  
"Sherlock. Do you like her?"  
"Obviously. I spent the whole of the day shagging her."  
"Good. And apart from the obvious...what do you think of her?"  
Sherlock considered. "I think she's delightful. I think we are similar people. I think she's quite bright...I think..."  
Mycroft put out his cigarette. "Yes?"  
"Yes. I like her. I told her as much."  
"Then...you are in a relationship. People that share mutual feelings are generally considered as such."  
"Feelings."  
"Just so. You have them for Molly, she has them for you. Rather like a disease."  
The brothers shared a laugh.  
"So...what happens tomorrow?"  
Mycroft sighed. His brother could be tedious. "You take her on an excursion. Buy her lunch. Enjoy her company. And come back here to spend the remainder of the day in bed."  
"But...what should I say when she asks what will happen when we leave Italy?"  
"That, Sherlock, is up to you," he smiled deeply. "Follow your...heart." And he laughed aloud.  
"Shut up, Mycroft."


	18. Chapter 18

Molly awoke to feel the sun on her face. It's warmth was comforting as she realized fully what the day held. She needed to speak with Sherlock, sort it all out. She got up & went to the shower. She meditated on the bliss of the previous day, how lovely everything was. How many of her dreams had been actualized in a span of a few hours. Her heart told her that not only had she failed to quell her feelings, but with said events, they had deepened greatly. She felt as though if she could ever love anyone, it would be him. If there was ever a man alive that could make her happy, Sherlock Holmes was it. Living along the periphery of society, not really fitting in, they were very similar in that way. She thought that she should tell him this. She was well read enough to know that unrequited love was a powerful thing; that if she truly loved him, which she was beginning to realize, he had the right to know before he rejected her. And she wasn't keen on spending her life thinking of what might have been. She would deal with his refusal in due course. Her embarrassment would fade, & they'd go on much as they had been.

Sherlock was brewing coffee. His mind was racing. Mycroft, for all of his exceptionally tiresome habits, attitudes, diatribes, idiosyncrasies, what have you's, was quite wise. Much more so than he had ever given him credit for. He must've enjoyed carnal lust in his life- how else was he to be explained? He thought about why John hadn't been the one he sought for advice. He thought, & then realized that Mycroft had been the originator of the banter. He smiled at this. Sometimes it was useful to have a brother.  
He began to think about Molly as he entered the garden with his cup. Molly, serene. Molly, intelligent. Molly, good-hearted & pure. Well, after yesterday, perhaps not so pure. She was sweet, smart, sexy. True, she could be a bit thick about some things, but admittedly, so could he. He hadn't the faintest what he was going to say to her. He thought about Mycroft's advice. He liked her. She liked him. Ergo, they were in a relationship. He winced. It still wasn't sitting well with him. He would need to get past that. It wouldn't do to wince in front of your girlfriend. He nearly choked on his coffee at that.

After breakfast, the pair headed out. He had suggested the Blue Grotto as per Mary's advice, would lunch according to Mycroft's, & head back to bed as someone had suggested, but all he could hear was the incessant insistence of his raging libido.

The Grotto was lovely, it truly glowed blue. Molly laughed & wowed & sighed at the marvel. Sherlock didn't pay much mind to it, he was busy looking sullen & trying to calm the rage in his mind; talking with Molly about what they were about at lunch, & convincing her to hurry so that they might away to the villa to copulate.  
They selected a quaint cafe not far from the docks at the base of the island. Nothing was near the Grotto, so a taxi was required to get there. After placing their orders, Molly looked at Sherlock. He had a look about him that was not easily read. Her heart plummeted to her stomach & she lost her appetite. Well, best just get it over with.  
"Sherlock? Is everything alright?"  
"Yes. Why?"  
"You appear distracted."  
He smiled. She had noticed his mood. "Yes. I suppose I am."  
"Oh," she inhaled deeply. Best to jump & run. "Sherlock...I think it's best if we have a talk about things. I know you said that you liked me...which was lovely...& after yesterday, plainly evident. And I'm really glad that yesterday happened. But it also...it also brought to my attention my own feelings, & I suppose that they run much deeper than I originally thought. You see...I'm afraid that I...am falling in love with you...and..." her voice trailed. Her color deepened. Her stomach turned. Her hands shook. She couldn't bear looking at him. She fidgeted. "It's alright, though. I know you don't feel the same way. I don't expect anything. Even if you want to just call it off. We don't need to pretend. It's Italy, you know. It's pulsing appetites. And...I really don't want you to fake anything for my sake or whatever. But just promise me that from now on, you'll be mindful of what I just told you, & try not to be an ass," she finally stopped. She exhaled. She looked up, & was half surprised to see him still there. Sunglasses, with his legs crossed, not having moved an inch since she began her speech. "Sherlock?"  
"Hm?"  
"Did you hear me?"  
"Every word."  
Good. At least she would be spared the horror of having to repeat herself. "Have you anything to say?" She thought that of he remained thus, she would get up & leave. She wasn't angry, but the thought of him remaining silent after she just poured her heart out onto the table with freshly pressed linen was too much to handle. The server brought them their wine. He thanked him. She drank deeply & poured out some more.  
"Drinking too much will ruin your lunch."  
She stared blankly.  
"Ok. You want my response." He took a sip of the red liquid. He paused & his mind seemed to slow. He refused to acknowledge the nerves he was feeling. "Well, Molly. I must say I'm a bit shocked." He noted her shoulders slump. He quickly decided to change course. "As I said...I like you. You seem to think that simply because my...heart...isn't quite in the same place as yours, that I'd wish for our newfound..." He hesitated a moment. "Relationship to cease. This is not the case. While I cannot admit that I fully reciprocate your feelings, I still like you. And that will not change."  
"So...when we return to London..."  
"We will resume what we've begun here. Yes."  
Once more, Molly was reduced to an, "Oh." And after lunch, they quickly returned to the empty villa (empty by design) & returned to their occupation of the day previous.


	19. Chapter 19

The evening was warm. It held the sounds of the island in a soft cradle of green effervescent serenity. There was but two days remaining of the holiday, & Sherlock, Molly, & Mycroft were sitting in the garden following a dinner that featured local seafood, salads that boasted plenty of fennel, & sweet red wine. The couple was jubilant, but quietly so. Mycroft was smiling broadly. He fancied himself responsible for their happiness. Sherlock was too preoccupied in his newfound adoration to protest his superior attitude.  
"I wonder where John & Mary are..." Molly reflected aloud.  
And as if on cue, the pair entered, beaming from ear to ear.  
"Break out the champagne," John announced.  
Molly looked at Mary, & spotted the ring on her left hand. "Oh! Mary!" And she ran to her friend to hug her.  
Sherlock appeared confused. Mycroft stood to shake John's hand, "Congratulations, John. She is a lovely woman."  
Sherlock looked at Mary once more. Ah. An engagement ring. Well, not unexpected, & he rose.  
"Well done, John," & he shook his hand.  
"Thanks Sherlock. It's a strange feeling, but somehow right. Suppose you know all about that, now," he returned smilingly.  
Sherlock looked at Molly & nodded his ascent.

The remainder of the holiday was spent in a relaxed manner. Since there were only a couple of days left, the foursome would venture out in the early morning, with the ladies talking about the forthcoming wedding, shopping for ideas, while the gentleman preferred to sit at an obliging cafe & read. They would return late in the afternoon & take their separate ways.  
The final evening Lily made an exceptional feast. Mycroft had had his share of wine, began retelling embarrassing stories about Sherlock making inappropriate observations about women's weight, about financial hardship, about people's insecurities by what muffin they had eaten for breakfast. Sherlock bore it with much dignity, knowing how he had helped him, & knew he'd quit the table soon enough.  
He finally did, following uproarious laughter at his final story (and then...mummy nearly had to pull him from school, the headmaster was so fed up. To which Sherlock pointed out, his wife must be too, she's sleeping with the head librarian). Molly was sad to see him go.  
"We should do something nice for him," she observed.  
Sherlock sneered, "Whatever for?"  
Mary agreed. "He needs something in his life...or someone."  
John spoke up. "No. No, Mary. That's enough. No more."  
Sherlock looked at him. "No more what?"  
Mary kicked John. "Er...nothing." John appeared uncomfortable.  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Were you...matchmaking?" He glared at Mary.  
"Don't be ridiculous. Matchmaking? Me?" Mary dropped her gaze.  
Molly smiled. "It all makes sense now. Of course you were. You & John."  
"Nope. Not me. Mycroft," John quickly said.  
"Mycroft?!" Sherlock looked away as he said it. Everything came crashing down on him. Every interaction. Of course. Italy had dulled his senses. "Of course. We should return the favor, Molly."  
She looked at him. "Sherlock, I like Mycroft. Don't suggest anything that might cause him pain."  
"I am shocked. He's my brother. Wy would I do anything that would cause him pain? Disquiet, yes," and he smiled. "Yes, Mary. Lets do just that when we return home. Mycroft needs someone in his life..."  
Mary smiled. John rolled his eyes. Molly appeared nervous. Sherlock was beaming.


	20. Chapter 20

Molly Hooper was packing her bags. She thought about the last time she was thus engaged, & how she felt. She smiled. She was looking about her room, her beautiful, lovely room, when she felt arms wrap around her waist & lips on her neck.  
"What will we do without it Sherlock?"  
"Without what?"  
"Italy."  
He pulled away & turned her to face him. "We shall return. Every year. And we will go on much as we have been."  
She smiled & kissed him. "How would you like to help me with these?" She motioned toward her excessive bags.  
"I believe Mycroft is free..."  
"That reminds me...are you & Mary serious?"  
He smiled. "I believe I told you once that I'm nearly always serious."  
"Yes...but...Sherlock...he's really sweet. He's fragile. He's not used to..."  
"He's nothing of the sort. And he's much more versed in this sort of thing than anyone realizes. Mycroft needs a kick in the ass, almost as much as I did..." And he kissed her softly.

The five were at Heathrow, gathering things, heading out to grab a taxi. There was a hint of melancholy about the group. The magic of Italy could be felt leaving them physically with the baptism of rain that descended upon England. Molly was nervous, as was Sherlock. Mary was serene, playing with her ring. John was anxious, reflecting on if he had moved forward too quickly. Mycroft had resumed his regular seriousness, his business like attitude. He shook everyone's hand, & was gone in a flash. He didn't get a cab. He had whisked away into a black car with a driver.

Later, Mary called Sherlock to speak about the seriousness of the suggestion presented in Italy. He was serious. Quite.  
She reminded him that he should be doing this for the sake of his brother's happiness, not for some sort of payback. Sherlock agreed, & was shocked at her suggestion that he was vindictive.  
He nestled next to Molly at 221B. "It'll be delightful to find Mycroft a companion."  
She sighed, "Sherlock, I wish you wouldn't," she paused. "Do you even know his sexual preference?"  
He laughed. Then he stopped. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't be certain. That would be problematic. No matter, if anyone could discover it, it was him.  
"Molly, thank you. I believe you just found me my next case." And he kissed her passionately, lifting her in his arms, & carrying her to the bedroom to spend their first night back in the same manner as they did the night previous in Italy.  
All was well, for everyone, even Mycroft. Though he didn't know it yet.


End file.
